


Motion For Parenthood

by natureangel



Series: Motion for Parenthood [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, steggy - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Ireland is its own kingdom because fuck the English, Modern Day Setting, steggy au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natureangel/pseuds/natureangel
Summary: Peggy Carter has worked herself to the bone all of her life and in the process, put her biggest goal on the backburner: a family. Prince Steven Rogers wishes to find peace with the rest of the countries housed in the Storied Isles but should things go south, he intends on having a backup plan in the form of an heir to his throne. One night changes their fates forever.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Motion for Parenthood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800577
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Motion For Parenthood

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea rattling around in my head for a while and I'm so glad to finally have the chance to write it. Happy Steggymas!

“You create an enemy by punishing someone who was innocent.” -Chanakya

Those words were the backbone of her successful affirmative action and civil defense firm, Carter, Martinelli, and Hill. Well, successful was putting it mildly. Her firm was the most successful and favored firm in all of London and her services were in constant demand, ever since she’d won her first major case 15 years ago against the monolithic agro-business company HYDRA. Fresh out of law school with barely anything of her own to her name, she’d taken on the suit personally and of course, her peers at Stark and Associates laughed in her face. But after nearly 3 painstaking years of research, interviewing willing employees in shadowy locations, so much discovery it filled half the floor of the firm and countless affidavits and motions she had enough evidence to dissolve their assets and resell the land they’d stolen from farmers at a fraction of what the farmers paid while compensating them for damages. The climb up the mountain seemed impossible but once she was up top, the view was worth it. And now she was facing her 34th year…. And her house couldn’t be emptier.

When she graduated law school, took on the HYDRA suit, and built her firm Margaret “Peggy” Carter knew she’d be so busy that getting home at a reasonable hour would be out of the question, nevermind finding time for dating or a family. More recently, however, it seemed that things aligned just right to allow her time to breathe and more personal time. With more barristers, lawyers, paralegals, file clerks, notaries, and mailroom personnel her workload was more manageable and she even found herself coming home in time to make dinner and invest time in learning to cook. 

This evening she decides to take the long way home from work and walk instead of taking a Lyft. Her path takes her past a children’s park where she sees parents playing with their children or watching them like hawks as they crawl and climb on the playground ‘castle. Her gaze falls to a little girl with auburn curls, tons of bows in her hair and cheeks red as apples. If Peggy had time, she could have had a little girl of her own but she didn’t want to settle until she could be proud she made the world a little safer, a little fairer to the little guy. She smiles to herself and continues on her way to her restored detached home that was a style of old meets new: stained glass parlor windows in front, infinity lap pool out back, heated mosaic floors in all the bathrooms. Success paid well but it also meant a big, empty house. After a shower and a slip into pajamas with no bra, she pads down her hand-carved stairs into the Michelin approved kitchen. A delicately crafted lasagna had just been slid into the oven when her house phone rang. The caller ID read “A. Carter”. Oh great, another call from her mum, no doubt demanding grandchildren. The urge to hang up comes and goes; Peggy could ignore it but she knew Amanda would call until she got an answer. With a resigned sigh, she pushes ‘talk’. 

“Hi, mum—

“Maggie did you hear that the Prince of Ireland is visiting?! Y’could cut glass on that jaw! And don’t get me going on those gorgeous blue eyes of his!”

Mentally, she eye-rolls. Oh, she wouldn’t.

“Yes, mum I saw that Rogers is visiting for peace talks. Doubt anything will come of it considering he’s far too stubborn and passionate and you know my office is nowhere near Parliament.”

“I know, I know but a mother can dream that her beautiful daughter will somehow run into him, perhaps when he’s slipped away from his handlers, and when you lock eyes with him he falls madly in love with you, you elope then give me grandchildren. Michael has been much too stubborn what with his MI6 career—”

“Mum.”

“Not to say that your career isn’t important just that you have more time than he does and—”

“Mum.”

“Alright, alright. But you know your clock is ticking, missy. And I think future generations could benefit from that good heart and big brain of yours.”

Despite the old-fashioned views, Peggy appreciated the heart of her compliment, a little smile on her face.  
“Thanks, mum. How’s dad?”

“You know he’s fallen asleep watching Columbo.”

“And he always somehow wakes up right before Columbo says ‘one more thing’ or ‘somethin’s botherin’ me’ like clockwork.” Her smile grows knowing that familial idiosyncrasies were what family was all about. Not to mention her possible children could do far worse for grandparents… but Peggy was so bad at dating and even worse at flirting. Work always took priority and getting back in the rhythm of dating life would be hard. Perhaps she could skip the dating, the serious dating, the engagement, the marriage, the trying, shave a few years off and get right to the baby-making….  
The oven beeps, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“You’d better get that. Love you, Maggie. The both of us.”

“Love you two, too, mum. Night.”

“Night.”

They both making kissing noises before hanging up.  
Peggy books an appointment for the Austen Sperm Bank, tomorrow.

Over and over she’d told the nurses that she didn’t care who the father was, so long as he didn’t have a history of malignant, untreated psychosis, wasn’t racist, sexist, homophobic, bigoted the whole shebang. Didn’t have some sort of twisted view of women that involved only fucking them his front to her back so he couldn’t look her in the eye and start crying. Turned out the list was a lot shorter than they’d hoped but they took the most recent donor and let her take it from there. In and out, quick as you please. With her paperwork filled out, payment made, and neo-natal vitamins picked up Peggy thanks the staff on her way out then walks to the nearest bookstore, subconsciously being more watchful of possible dangers like loose sidewalk tiles or too-quiet electric cars.

At the coffee shops within the store, she nearly buys her usual coffee but opts for a fruit and spinach smoothie instead. Just in case. While she waits for her drink, she glimpses the latest story on the newsstand: “Irish Prince Plays Hot Potato With Handlers.” Apparently, Prince Steven had run away from his security detail and gone who knew where. Partying, she assumed. 

After nearly cleaning out the expectant mothers' section, she leaves with her purchases and takes a Lyft home.  
“You expecting someone?” The driver with the excellent car playlist asks, glancing at her in her rearview mirror.

Yes, she knew several barristers who had European sports cars but she wasn’t expecting any of them today. None of them ever wanted to work Saturday and nearly all of them respected her as much as they feared her. Though they only feared her when she wanted to browbeat manners and compassion into them.

“Not really but… I think I’ll be alright.” She flashes a smile to her driver as they pull to a stop on her driveway. “Thank you.” Then Peggy pays and tips 30 percent before sliding out with her drink and her sack full of books.

There wasn’t anyone in the car, no one on her front porch… Oh no.  
She frantically fishes her keys out of her purse and flings her front door open.

“I don’t know who you are and I don’t give a fuck about your vanity car but you’ll leave my home or I’ll make you.” Years of self-defense and knife training would pay off here.

“I was wondering who’d have such eclectic but grand taste for a home like this.” Sat at her kitchen bar was none other than Prince Steven of Ireland himself, all grins and swagger, drinking her slow drip coffee. “The mother of my future child, I presume? Y’d better close the door, ‘fore y’catch yer death of cold.” As he raises his mug, she crumples into her entrance loveseat, looking like a fish out of water.


End file.
